


lush

by CosmicTurnabout



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Death, Gen, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Sexual Tension, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicTurnabout/pseuds/CosmicTurnabout
Summary: Remember but this—there are only two types of people in the world: the strong and the weak.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	lush

**Author's Note:**

> For the FFXIV writing challenge prompt #9: “lush.”

Amicia woke as if from a dream, and found herself standing in front of a cave. Beside her stood a man, tall and imposing in regal black and red, his eyes cast forward into the dark of the cave opening. Snow swirled around them both. She looked up, down, all around. Mountains surrounded them, and a darkening sky loomed overhead. Ah, yes. Coerthas. Of course.  
  
 _Who am I?_ she thought. _Amicia Clayworth, only an average archer, and fair at best with dagger or sword_. She had never had pretensions of being a hero, or even a great adventurer, really. But she had met this man—this beautiful, shining man—at the Forgotten Knight, and for the short time he had regaled her at dinner, it had seemed like anything was possible. How fortuitous to meet such a kind stranger during her first week in Ishgard! And after suffering a recent spate of the most horrid luck. They had talked of so many things: the most popular new songs gracing the taverns, the best jewel merchants in the region, the state of Ishgardian politics. He had taken her mind off worst-case scenarios, and she had told him ever so much. To top it all off, he knew of a great hidden cave just itching to be explored. Perfect for an adventurer like her, he’d said. She had only to follow him.  
  
The man’s name was Emet-Selch. A bizarre name, to be sure, and he spoke with a flat, neutral accent that somehow had the sound of all regions and none. His short-cropped hair moved only slightly in Coerthas’s perpetually chill wind. His face was statuesque, his nose sloped and elegant, his amber eyes hooded. The sash around his neck flared with a sudden strong gust, standing out like a streak of blood against the surrounding white. Gods, she could have stared at him forever. He looked so beautiful and golden with the sun setting behind him.  
  
But it had been night when they met... for the sun to be setting now...  
  
Amicia licked her lips. Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. She could not remember walking this far. She could not remember much after agreeing to a third glass of wine at Emet-Selch’s behest, truth be told. The man had downed more drinks than she could count at dinner. He drank as if possessed of a bottomless belly, and had remained every bit as sober as the moment he had approached her table and introduced himself, all velvety words and gallant legs.  
  
This cave was within the confines of Coerthas proper, not far from most of the major settlements. Still, nestled in a small valley as it was, it might be easy to miss from the main road. Through a thin screen of snow, she could just make out the spires of Ishgard in the distance, and that calmed her nerves a bit. She blinked, following Emet-Selch’s gaze to the cave ahead of her. Its entrance seemed to sparkle. Icicles, she assumed. It beckoned to her, curled a finger to her very heart.  
  
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. _How did I come this far?_ she thought, and was about to ask Emet-Selch that very question, but he was looking at her with his big amber eyes now, and her mouth stopped moving before she could get even a single word out.  
  
“You wanted to explore, did you not?” he asked softly. “This is the cave of which I spoke. After you.”  
  
“I suppose I did at that,” Amicia found herself saying. “I was just going to ask... ah...” What had she wanted to ask? Emet-Selch was still regarding her curiously, like he might an old relic that refused to yield its secrets after hours of study. His eyes made her thoughts a jumble, and there was a curious smell in the air, like flowers and honey and hot spiced wine. She nodded slowly and began walking toward the cave, careful of her footing. Old snow crunched under her boots, hiding ice patches that could easily slip a person up. From what she had heard from city gossips, there might be a fair amount of loot to discover in and around the Coerthas Central Highlands. Dragon skeletons to be plundered for odds and ends; some superstitious types made potions and elixirs from dragon remains. Wild sheep sporting wondrously thick wool that ran for a pretty penny with even the must cutthroat merchants. Ruined manors abandoned by old Ishgardian High Houses with half-buried coffers waiting to be rediscovered. There were enough rumors to get any would-be adventurer’s heart beating fit to burst. How could her mind run wild with thoughts such as these, and then stumble over itself when it came to how she’d gotten there? Emet-Selch did nothing to clear her doubts. He just walked at her side like a pale shadow, not saying a word.  
  
It was quiet and cool inside the cave. There was enough light to see that it was not particularly deep; it stretched back about twenty or thirty fulms, ending in a rough wall shining with a sheen of damp. Stalagtites dripped down like fangs overhead, the longest nearly brushing the bow sticking up from her back.  
  
Amicia looked around. The cave was mostly empty but for piles of stones and dark puddles of water. She walked further, careful of the puddles and rocks threatening to trip her up. There was still nothing of any great interest. She was about to joke with Emet-Selch about this supposed great discovery, but after a moment’s careful searching, something caught her eye. In the corner against one of the back walls was a mound of pale lumps. What looked like arms and legs stuck out at odd angles, and there was a stench that made her nose want to wrinkle. She took two steps closer, and... Oh. Now she saw the mound for what it was.

The bodies were of all sizes, large and small, Elezen and Lalafellin and Hyuran. Meshing together at last, as they might never have in life. One of the hands jutting from the fleshy lump had a very distinctive ring on it, a ring carved with the sigil of a minor Ishgardian noble house. The pinky was missing.  
  
Estean, the great fool. He had lost that finger tussling with a particularly aggressive snapping turtle on a brief fishing trip they had all taken a year ago. His father had said he’d need to relearn the sword, but the young Elezen dandy had just chuckled and declared he’d continue to make do with his maimed right hand. Next to Estean peered R’hishi’s moon-pale face, wide-eyed and yawning at the ceiling. Her neck was a bloody stump, ending in ragged bits of skin and gristle. She’d always been fiery and irascible, and endlessly creative on her harp to boot. She’d never finish writing that song about the great zu she had shot down over the deserts of Thanalan all those moons ago.  
  
Amicia had wondered what had happened to them. They had split up a few days after coming to Ishgard to scope the place out; see where work could be found; listen for bits of gossip pointing to likely treasure hoards and other places of interest. But Amicia had warned them to be careful. There had been recent reports of adventurers disappearing in the night, never to be seen again.  
  
Well. Here they were. She almost wanted to laugh. She wondered how long ago they had died, how many people were actually part of that pile. It looked like dozens at the very least. She swallowed, but her throat was dry as dust.  
  
“Oh my,” said Emet-Selch from a few fulms away. It was the first he had spoken since they had come in here. He tapped thumb and forefinger against the gaudy basket hilt of his sword. It was ornamental, he’d said; he had no idea how to use it. Now she was not so sure. “It seems this place is being used already, though for what I fear to speculate. Mayhap we have come across some bloodthirsty cult.”  
  
“Are you really going to keep up this charade even now, Emet-Selch?” came a new voice. Feminine, but low. A velvety laugh followed.  
  
Out of the shadows came other figures, lean and sinuous and vaguely familiar. Amicia thought back, and seemed to remember one or two of them standing in corners of the Forgotten Knight hours ago, faces aloof, arms crossed tightly over their chests. There was no tightness in their bodies now; they moved with the deadly grace of wraiths born from the abyss.  
  
 _They mean to kill me_ , she thought of a sudden. _I will die here, like my comrades did_. She was surprised when the revelation brought no fear. The air in the cave was like unto a heavy blanket, and the smell of lilac was prevalent, cloying. It scrambled her thoughts, seemed to dull her desire to run entirely. Why had she ever wanted to run? It was wonderful here, being so close to Emet-Selch and these other beautiful people. They were like dreams come to life, idealized forms given flesh and blood.  
  
There were two men and a woman, and Amicia chanced a slow smile at them. They smiled back. Emet-Selch gazed at them approvingly. They were almost as beautiful as he, with features sharp as cut glass. They wore dark silk robes, and their eyes were huge and purple in the dim of the cave.   
  
“Lahabrea, Nabriales,” he said to the two men, and then took the woman’s hand. “Igeyorhm. I suppose I need not pretend any longer. I have brought sustenance.” He made a sweeping gesture toward Amicia, and she blinked. She was elated, overwhelmed, but...  
  
“How did I get here?” Amicia asked slowly, feeling like she was speaking though a thick layer of syrup. “What’s... what’s going to happen to me?”  
  
Emet-Selch turned to her, drawing up to his full height. His shadow stretched far enough to touch the lip of the cave entrance itself. “Oh, my dear. I enticed you to follow me. You do not remember, enchanted as you were. We only walked for about an hour or two over rather easy terrain, but you would have traversed poisonous swampland if I had but asked it of you.”  
  
Amicia nodded. “Oh,” she said. Yes. It made all the sense in the world. Her head felt like a lead weight. “Well. Where is the treasure, then? You said there would be treasure here.”  
  
“There is no treasure,” snapped the one called Lahabrea, scathing. “Fool.”  
  
“Oh,” said Amicia. Her own voice sounded like it was echoing back to her from the mouth of a long tunnel. “Of course not. How silly of me.” No treasure. That was not so disappointing. Not when she had found something so much greater than earthly gold and silver and jewels.  
  
Emet-Selch spread his hands and spoke, his magnanimous voice taking on an edge of malice. “All you have found is the cold truth of the world. Corpses piled up in secret places. Death in exchange for life. We are the only ones worthy of life everlasting, you see. We are the arbiters of you half-formed souls, and we will determine the course of this star.”  
  
“Consider that knowledge your treasure, adventurer,” added Lahabrea. “See what your dumb curiosity has won for you.”   
  
“There is no need to be so cross, Lahabrea,” said Igeyorhm. “Not now, at the end.” Nabriales just snickered.  
  
“I am sick and _tired_ of pretending these half-things deserve anything like respect or dignity,” Lahabrea seethed. “And I know Emet-Selch agrees with me. He simply chooses to be more diplomatic about it.”  
  
“Half-thing?” Amicia asked, but she felt no anger at the remark. Lahabrea’s face was beautiful, even contorted in rage. How could she be bothered by what he said? He was right, of course he was right. She was nothing. No one.   
  
Emet-Selch sighed, and left Igeyorhm’s side to take Amicia’s hand. She stared back at him, rapturous. “Lahabrea lays it out so horrifically. But he is right. Your life is but a drop in the ocean of our kind’s long existence. And this is the conclusion of your story.” He smiled. His teeth were clean and white, and glittered like the snow outside. He looked more evil—and more beautiful—than he ever had before. “But do not fret. Your lifeblood will fuel us. You will have served a great cause. By nourishing us, you will play a part in righting the world, in setting it back on its proper path. For that, you should be proud. Your body will be honored in death if you do not resist. If you do...” He nodded to the pile of corpses against the wall. Amicia shook her head. No, no of course she would not resist. She wanted to be taken, and the sooner, the better. All she could smell were those flowers, as if the very air was suffused with them.  
  
Lahabrea and Nabriales moved, and in two heartbeats they were on either side of her, gripping her arms in cold, strong hands. Those hands felt like vices holding her still, keeping her shivering in check. They came in close, hard chests pressing against her. They both smelled of flowers and foreign spices, a heady mix that set her mind to reeling.  
  
“Mayhap in another turning of the star, you could have joined us. Been one of us. But I am afraid I could not justify transforming one such as you.” Emet-Selch’s lovely face was sad now. It looked as if that expression had been set in stone eons ago, like he had been born to grieve. “You are beautiful in your way, but you do not possess that essential ancient core that we seek. And it is not ours to raise up the less than worthy.”  
  
She had no idea what he was talking about, and she did not care. His words were like music. She could listen to him forever. If his voice was the last thing she heard, she would die happy.  
  
“I accept,” she said breathlessly. “Do what you must do. Take me, if you intend to take me.”  
  
“A wise choice,” said Emet-Selch. “Especially for a shattered being such as yourself. It is so much easier when you yield.” He gestured. Igeyorhm moved to stand behind Amicia, mouth open, eyes almost red with need. Lahabrea and Nabriales twisted her arms in such a way that her palms faced the ceiling, as if in offering. Their movements had the flow and feel of long practice. Memorization. This was a ritual they had performed many times before.  
  
The two holding her arms had a fierce grip, clawlike. The pain turned her stomach, sent bile to her throat, but she had eyes only for Emet-Selch. He stepped closer to her, until his chest nearly touched hers. His hands looped around her neck in a loose embrace, and he kissed the space under her ear. Lahabrea and Nabriales moved in even as they held her, placing their mouths against her neck as well. Then they bit down, ever so softly, and when they drew back, Amicia could feel warm lines flowing down into her collar. They had pierced her with their teeth, she realized. Igeyorhm stroked her hair, her long fingers dancing spiderlike across her scalp. The woman’s pale face arced over her shoulder, looking at the lines of blood, her eyes hungry and lovely, so, so lovely.  
  
A myriad of sensations battled for Amicia’s attention. Pain and bliss mingled in a terrifying dance, blinding her reason and cooling her fear and confusion. For a moment, in that storm of wild thought and emotion, she saw herself in her mind’s eye, and she was just as beautiful as the beings surrounding her.  
  
Her eyelids fluttered in ecstasy. Her stomach tightened, nausea forgotten in a roiling wave of pleasure. Gods, was this what death was going to feel like? Was this what Estean and R’hishi had turned down?  
  
Fools.  
  
“There will be pain,” Emet-Selch whispered for Amicia alone, “but before that will come greater joy than you have ever known.” He put a hand to her cheek, bent her back. As if to kiss her for true. “Let it wash over you.”  
  
She trusted him implicitly, more than she had anyone in her entire life. Blissfully she closed her eyes, letting the wave of darkness crush her. The last thing she felt were Emet-Selch’s lush lips alighting softly at the base of her neck.


End file.
